2 – The Council and the Creature

Thunder cracked in the darkness. Ren struggled to pry his eyes open, finding his body unresponsive as he faded in and out of consciousness, drifting between waking and blackness.

“Well, now we have to decide what to do with him. Did you really need to pull him from the Ether? Oblivion isn’t so bad, you know? So they say.” A deep, resonating voice reverberated around Ren.

“Come now, Raelon, we don’t even know why he was there in the first place,” a lilting voice, distinctly female, replied. “It’s been, what, ten seasons since the last outworlder? Besides, it’s for the entire council to decide.”

The first voice—Raelon?—spoke again. “There wouldn’t have been anything to decide if you had left him.” A heavy sigh joined the rumbling thunder. “Still, it’s done now. Nothing to do for it. Do you want to bring him, or me? Is he going to wake up?”

“Doubtful. The Ether does strange things to the mind. I can gather him. It’s no trouble.”

Ren levitated off whatever surface he had been sprawled upon. Once more he tried, unsuccessfully, to open his eyes or move his slack limbs.

A moment passed, or a minute, or an hour, as he floated through the nothing. Though at times he sensed himself to be moving rapidly—like a silent twig cast haphazardly through the rapids of darkness—there was no wind or rush of air or even sound.

Eventually, he slowed and was once again laid atop something firm and flat.

“Now, now. What have we here?” A new voice, old and raspy, came from off to the right. “Gone fishing in the void, Zephyra?” The voice rippled with amusement.

“I told her she should have left well enough alone,” Raelon said.

“He’s an outworlder!” Zephyra responded, as if this alone was explanation enough. “Or would you prefer I let the most interesting thing to happen in recent memory simply pass by?”

“Meddling in the Ether like it’s some shadow-forsaken pond,” Raelon muttered,

“By the brood, he has two cores. Do you—”

A different voice—male, sharp and forceful, almost vehement—snapped from the right, “Hold your tongue, child!” The ground quaked.

“It’s been over forty seasons since the clash. They are locked away. We won.” Zephyra’s voice cut back.

“We do not speak of the dark ones. Not here. Not ever.”

“Be still, Tourl’ai,” yet another voice—maybe female?—said, flat and emotionless, laden with a cold that pierced Ren’s soul.

His head throbbed as he worked to fight off rippling disorientation. How many people are here? Where is here?

“Zephyra, speak,” the cold voice spoke again.

“Should I not wait for the others?”

“We do not need the seven gathered for this.”

Ren tried to force an eye open, attempting to see something, anything. How long was I out? Am I still even in New York? Is this the Mob? One eyelid lifted heavily, revealing a half-focused, swirling nebula of stars above him. Despite his efforts, it involuntarily closed again.

The soft, girlish voice of Zephrya continued. “As I was meditating, I sensed a dimensional ripple across the Ether. While not entirely unheard of, it was… unusual. Investigation further revealed a temporary world bridge—sloppy and half formed, but connected.”

“The mana flow must have been enormous,” the old, raspy voice cut in. “The required energy for such a bridge would be…” The voice paused.

“Over five hundred shards’ worth, Orin. Yes, it was quite large.”

“Do the seals hold?” the sharp sound from before asked—Tourl’in? Tourl’ai?

“Reinforced and bound,” Raelon said. “Just like they have been for the past fifty seasons. It was the first thing we checked.”

“Anyway,” Zephyra said, “contrary to our dear thunder friend’s desire, I retrieved the outworlder and dissolved the bridge. Though now we do have the distinct problem of what to do with him.”

“The answer is quite simple,” Tourl’ai said. “Form another bridge and send him back. An outworlder is the last thing we need right now.”

“Over five hundred shards,” the croaking voice of Orin said. “I don’t have that, and it would take weeks for the Academy to gather them, not that they would hand them over in the first place. I certainly don’t want that kind of debt.”

“I vote we empower him,” Zephyra said. “He has two cores! With an initial mana infusion, we could raise him to apprentice at least.”

“The guilds would never stand for it,” Raelon interjected. “And it requires a vote of seven. Do you want to wait for Nex to return from wherever they have gone off to?”

“Not to mention the dimensional instability… Five hundred shards…” Orin added.

“Silence.” Cold washed over Ren as the flat voice spoke. “Child, you should not have meddled, but it is done. Raelon is correct: We will not overstep here. Yet…” The voice paused. “It cannot be denied that there is potential in him. Perhaps fate is weaving a new portion of the tapestry. We shall nudge our feather along the wind. I move we place him near Meridia and let unfold what may.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“I second,” Orin said. “He could be interesting to watch.”

“I stand against,” the strong, hard voice of Tourl’ai added. The ground rumbled again.

Zephyra said, “Meridia sounds very intriguing. I support it.”

“Abstain, for what it’s worth,” Raelon said. “Not that it matters.”

“With three agreed,” the emotionless woman stated, “Let it be done. Zephyra, see to it.”

“As you say, Empress. Orin, I would not turn down assistance if you are willing.”

“Yes, yes. Of course, of course.” The hard surface pushing into Ren’s back disappeared as he was, once again, unwillingly lifted into the air.